


We All Scream for Ice Queen

by Flight_at_Midnight



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: (mostly) one-sided oliviza, F/F, F/M, Jealous Roy, Royai - Freeform, bisexual riza hawkeye, is my fave roy if you couldn't tell, not one-sided enough for roy tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25187815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flight_at_Midnight/pseuds/Flight_at_Midnight
Summary: When Olivier Armstrong threatens to convince Hawkeye to leave Team Mustang for Fort Briggs, Roy brushes her threats aside as far-fetched. Jealousy ensues once Roy realizes he underestimated just how convincing Olivier can be. Set pre-FMA:B.
Relationships: Olivier Mira Armstrong/Riza Hawkeye, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 29
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

“She’s too good for you, Mustang,” Major General Armstrong sneered, her eyes locked on Lieutenant Hawkeye’s indefatigable form sparring with yet another stocky Briggs soldier in the center of the training room. 

Watching Hawkeye effortlessly dodge the man’s increasingly erratic punches, her whiskey eyes fixed on her opponent’s movements, Roy silently agreed with Armstrong. His Lieutenant alone helped place Eastern Headquarters ahead of Briggs in this year’s joint training exercises, a feat that delighted him to no end—not just because he knew how much it grated on the Major General, but also because of his never-ending admiration for Hawkeye. Not that he could let Armstrong know that, so he decided to further rankle her instead.

“It’s not my fault your men aren’t up to snuff. Maybe the Northern Wall of Briggs isn’t as impenetrable as you like to think,” he fired back.

“Don’t be a fool. As a unit, Briggs is unstoppable.” She narrowed her eyes slightly as Hawkeye swept her opponent’s feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor and earning Hawkeye her fourth victory of the day. “As a unit,” Armstrong emphasized in response to Roy’s smug look. 

Hawkeye sat down on the edge of the mat, her chest heaving from exertion under her military-issue short sleeve turtleneck. Roy watched intently as she patted a bead sweat from her neck with a clean sweat towel handed to her by Sergeant Fuery.

“Is she special to you?” Armstrong asked bluntly, tearing Roy from his appreciative gaze. 

He did his best to appear unfazed by the question, but internally berated himself for looking at his Lieutenant for far too long and with far too much interest. “All of my men are special to me,” Roy scoffed.

Armstrong rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, you little shit.” When Roy said nothing, she smirked. “Fine. If she’s simply one of your men, I’m sure you’ll have no problem with me convincing her to join my command here at Fort Briggs.”

Roy laughed. “Good luck with that, Major General. Lieutenant Hawkeye isn’t a fan of the cold weather.”

“Don’t worry, Mustang. I’ll keep her warm.” As Roy raised an eyebrow at the Major General, she shucked her heavy outercoat and approached Hawkeye on the mat. His Lieutenant stood up quickly to salute the taller blonde.

“At ease, Lieutenant. Would our reigning champion be opposed to one final match with me?”

“Of course not, Sir,” Hawkeye responded, handing the towel back to Fuery. 

Roy huffed in derision. As if a simple sparring match could convince Hawkeye to leave his command to serve under Armstrong. Though he couldn’t admit it to Armstrong, Hawkeye was special to him, and he had a feeling he was special to her too. Lingering looks, late night laughter in the office, always knowing how the other felt with one glance—if not for their all-consuming mission to reform Amestris and make amends for Ishval, Roy would have asked his Lieutenant out a long time ago.

Lieutenants Havoc and Catalina walked over to Roy’s spot against the wall to get a better view of the match. “Pinch me, I’m dreaming,” Havoc sighed, his eyes locked on the figures of the two women squaring up on the mat, readying to fight. Catalina reached over and pinched Havoc on his exposed forearm, hard, and he winced. “Ow, what the hell Rebecca?”

“Just giving you what you asked for.” But Rebecca’s scowl became a grin as she looked at Hawkeye on the mat, dodging Armstrong’s first swift punches. “Although maybe I should go pinch Riza since she probably thinks she’s dreaming too.”

Roy turned to Rebecca. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, Riza had a HUGE crush on Armstrong back in the Academy after Armstrong visited to give a speech about women in the military. Riza always denied it, but she went on a few dates afterwards with a civilian with long blonde hair just like Armstrong’s. Every time I teased her about the resemblance she’d get all flustered and her face would turn red—oh, just like that!”

Following her gaze, Roy witnessed a pinned Hawkeye under a victorious and smiling Armstrong. True to Rebecca’s word, Hawkeye’s face was flushed, a much deeper red than usual after a sparring match, and her eyes were wide and shining.

Oh. Oh shit.

As Hawkeye grinned up at Armstrong, arms restrained over her head, Roy realized he might be in deep trouble if he wanted to keep his Lieutenant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm being hand wavey with the frat regs because I'm self-indulgent, thx for appeasing me

Armstrong released her grip on Hawkeye’s pinned arms and stood up, the Briggs men cheering her on. She proffered a hand to help Hawkeye up, and Roy felt a tugging in his stomach as his Lieutenant grasped it. Havoc whistled lowly, and this time Rebecca was too busy smiling at the scene unfolding in front of her to berate him for it.

“Is it me, or is Briggs actually heating up?” Rebecca giggled, fanning herself with her hand. Roy shifted uncomfortably as he watched Armstrong warmly pat Hawkeye's midback, letting her hand linger for a second.

Armstrong turned to address her soldiers, while Hawkeye kept her eyes trained on the General. “Men, take this moment to remember what a Briggs victory looks like, and maybe Lieutenant Hawkeye won’t shame us all next time. Now, break for dinner!”

Briggs and East forces began to amble out of the room toward the cafeteria. Roy remained at the edge of the room with Havoc and Rebecca to wait for Hawkeye, who resumed talking to Armstrong with pink dusting her cheeks.

“C’mon,” Rebecca said, nodding her head to the door. “Let’s give Riza some alone time with the General. Maybe Riza can learn more about working _underneath_ her.” At that, Havoc laughed and waggled his eyebrows at Roy. Roy did his best to smile but knew it looked more like a grimace.

He paused, ready to make up some excuse to wait for Hawkeye, then realized he couldn’t without it seeming like bullshit. Roy begrudgingly followed the giggling Lieutenants out of the room, but not before casting one last glance back at the two women who remained rapt in conversation in the middle of the room. A wide smile splayed across his Lieutenant’s lips as Armstrong exaggeratedly grabbed Hawkeye’s arm to inspect her biceps. 

Well, fuck.

-

“Everything okay, boss?” Breda asked, sliding into the cafeteria bench next to Roy. “You kinda look like someone pissed in your goop.” He eyed the runny mush in the bowl on his tray with trepidation. “But I think it just looks like this.”

Havoc laughed. “He’s just annoyed that Armstrong is gonna woo Hawkeye away from him and he’ll be stuck actually doing his paperwork.”

Roy was watching Armstrong’s table, where Hawkeye sat close to the General, their thighs brushing. As Armstrong and the other Briggs men at the table laughed at something Hawkeye said, Armstrong looked across the cafeteria to lock eyes with Roy and smirk.

Huffing, Roy resisted the urge to flip off Armstrong and tore his eyes back to the men before him. 

“Yeah, the paperwork,” Breda replied, watching Roy carefully. Breda was Roy’s sharpest man, so it didn’t surprise Roy that the man suspected something more was going on here. Roy knew he needed to be more careful and find a way to quell his frothing jealousy, but it was hard when Armstrong was sitting closer to Hawkeye than he’s dared since the two of them were naïve and optimistic teens.

Breda took pity on him and turned the conversation to Havoc. “Well maybe you should be careful, or else the Briggs men will woo Rebecca away from you too.”

Havoc stiffened. “Rebecca and I are just good friends. Besides, they could never—hey!” he exclaimed, as his eyes finally found where Rebecca had disappeared to. She was holding court at a table near Hawkeye’s across the cafeteria, surrounded by Briggs men vying for her attention. Havoc sputtered as Rebecca giggled coquettishly at something one of the men said, thriving in the limelight. 

“Just good friends, huh?” Falman grinned at the increasingly agitated man next to him. “I’m glad, that’ll make it easier on you when Rebecca transfers up here.”

“Shut up Falman,” Havoc muttered, slumping over his half-eaten bowl of mush, his eyes darting back over to Rebecca’s table.

Roy breathed out, grateful that Breda diverted attention away from him as the rest of the men continued making jabs at Havoc. He didn’t let himself glance over to Hawkeye’s table for the rest of dinner, despite his shameful need to know if Armstrong had inched closer to Hawkeye, if Hawkeye was laughing at her jokes, if Hawkeye was already signing the paperwork to transfer to Briggs.

When the men of Team Mustang eventually shuffled out of the cafeteria to return to their rooms for the night, Hawkeye (and Rebecca, to Roy’s amusement and Havoc’s chagrin) were still consorting with their respective Briggs groups. Fuery sidled up to Roy, who was in the process of making sure his gaze stayed averted from Hawkeye’s table.

“Do you really think Hawkeye might leave us to transfer up here?” Fuery asked, his eyes wide behind the thick frames of his glasses. Roy softened at the plaintive look on the kid’s face and realized he wouldn’t be the only one to suffer with Hawkeye’s absence.

“Of course not, Fuery. Hawkeye belongs with us.” With me, Roy amended silently. “Besides, do you really think she’d subject Black Hayate to this awful weather?”

Fuery perked up. “You’re right! Hawkeye and Black Hayate hate the cold. Hawkeye always says it’s more difficult to shoot with gloves on, but without them her trigger finger’s reaction time is worse because of the cold.”

Roy nodded confidently and clapped his young subordinate on the back. “See? Nothing to worry about.” If only he were as confident as he sounded.

-

Roy laid on the threadbare mattress in his icebox of a room, staring at the ceiling. He’d been trying to convince himself for the last hour that he had nothing to worry about, that he didn’t imagine the soft way Hawkeye looked at him all those times when she thought no one would notice. And absolute worst case scenario, even if Hawkeye’s feelings for him were simply platonic, she was dedicated enough to their mission to stay and protect his back, keep him propped up when everything else underneath him crumbled.

But. Every time Roy thought he’d finally assured himself, his memory flashed back to Hawkeye, pinned under Armstrong with a quick flash of heat passing across her wide whiskey eyes.

By the fifth time this happened, Roy finally had enough of his dithering. He’d just walk to Hawkeye’s room and convince (or, more likely, beg) her not to transfer. 

As Roy approached Hawkeye’s room at the end of the hall, he heard laughter—no, giggling—coming from the ajar door. 

“And that’s how General Hakuro learned that just because he has a big sword doesn’t mean he knows how to use it better than me,” he heard Armstrong say, her voice light and flirtatious. 

“Incredibly, truly,” Hawkeye replied, her tone similarly playful. Roy’s heart squeezed. Maybe what he thought was the worst case scenario wasn’t actually the worst case—could Hawkeye’s feelings for Armstrong eclipse even their mission? He couldn’t remember the last time he heard Hawkeye giggle like that.

“So, Riza,” Armstrong continued. _Shit, “Riza”?_ “You can’t deny your skills would be much better served up here at Fort Briggs. You’re underutilized as an adjutant, especially as that pissant Mustang’s adjutant.” Roy heard a shifting of fabric. “You deserve better,” Armstrong murmured, low and alluring.

There was a pause before Hawkeye spoke, her voice breathy. “Well, I can’t say I wouldn’t mind less paperwork.”

His heart sunk. Not wanting to hear more of his rejection, more of this seduction of his Lieutenant, he sulked back to his room to face a restless night of sleep.

-

The next and final day of their trip, as they lined up for the East versus Briggs paintball tourney, Roy ended up standing next to Hawkeye. He tried to pretend like nothing was out of the ordinary, but she knew him better than that.

“Are you feeling okay, Colonel? You look exhausted.”

 _Sure,_ Roy thought. _I only stayed up all night thinking how I always knew you were too good for me and now I’ve finally had to face that reality, at Armstrong’s hands no less._

Instead, he nodded his head as nonchalantly as possible. “Of course, Lieutenant. Just not looking forward to all the paperwork I’ll have to do once I’m back East. Just let me know when to sign your transfer papers so I don’t hold you up.” He forced out the last part, trying to rip the bandage off as quickly as possible. As much as he didn’t want Hawkeye to leave him, as much as he didn’t want to believe she simply saw him as her superior officer, he wanted her to know that she should do what she wanted and be happy, even if he couldn’t be.

Hawkeye’s eyes widened. “What -”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by Armstrong’s booming voice. “Alright men, you have 10 minutes to scatter outside before the bloodbath begins. Last man standing wins for their headquarters. Begin!”

At that, Roy jogged quickly away from Hawkeye, not wanting to force her to explain her decision to him. He gripped his paintball gun tighter as he stepped outside and the first blast of cold hit him in the face. It didn’t matter which headquarters won the paintball match—Armstrong had already beaten him. But maybe shooting a few Briggs soldiers would make him feel a little bit better.

Half an hour later, Roy found himself crouching behind a broad tree in a secluded area of forest, gun pointed at an unsuspecting Briggs soldier. He pulled the trigger and felt a small zing of satisfaction as the red paint splattered across the man’s back, who cursed at his invisible attacker before heading back towards the fort. 

“I’d say nice shot, Mustang.” A small shiver worked its way up Roy’s spine, just when he thought he couldn’t get any colder. He turned to face the imposing figure of Olivier Armstrong, long hair whipping in the cold wind and the barrel of her gun pointed at his heart. “But only cowards hide from their enemy.”

Roy groaned. He couldn’t think of a more appropriate way to end this match. “Haven’t you won enough from me this week?” he asked.

Armstrong barked out a sharp laugh. “Are you referring to your Lieutenant?” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what you could have possibly done to warrant such dedication, but Hawkeye turned down my offer to transfer. Said she had a duty to stay in the East, or some nonsense.”

Relief flooded through Roy, warming his body despite the frigid weather around him. His brain went into overdrive, and all he could do was utter a dumbfounded “Ah.”

“I admire her immensely, as foolish as her loyalty is.” Armstrong paused. “And she’s a great lay.”

Roy sputtered, his brain short-circuiting yet again as he gaped at the commanding blonde. Armstrong smirked. “Kidding, you idiot. Like I said, she’s foolishly loyal to you.” She leveled her paintball gun at his chest again, then looked him squarely in the eyes. “No matter what you say, I know you regard Hawkeye as more than just your adjutant. Don’t wait until it’s too late—because while you may have won this battle, I can still win the war.”

With that, she shot him in the chest and sauntered off to terrorize someone else.

Roy smiled goofily to himself, grateful no one else was around. Hawkeye was staying with him—whether out of feelings for him or a sense of duty to make amends for Ishval, it didn’t matter (well, it did, but for now Roy wouldn’t think about it too hard). He would have her by his side for at least a little longer. It was then he heard snow crunch from behind him. He spun around to see yet another formidable blonde pointing her paintball gun at his chest, but this time it was the much more welcome sight of Hawkeye.

“Colonel?” Hawkeye lowered her gun, then noticed the splattering of blue paint on the chest of his winter coat. “Who got you?”

He grimaced. “Armstrong.”

Hawkeye pursed her lips, clearly fighting back a laugh. It was then Roy spotted her bare, chapped hands wrapped around her gun.

“Lieutenant, this training exercise isn’t worth you sacrificing your hands for more accurate shots,” he gently chided her. Roy stepped close to Hawkeye and covered her hands with his gloved ones before he could think better of it. “Let me warm your hands.”

Hawkeye’s eyes widened for a second, but then she nodded her head and placed her gun on the ground. Returning her hands to his, Roy cradled them both in his left as he brought his right to hover under their joined hands. With a light snap of his right fingers, he produced a gentle flame, warming the small space between their bodies.

Hawkeye’s fluttered shut as she enjoyed the warmth returning to her fingers, her face content. Roy took this rare chance, this fleeting intimacy, to admire the slope of his adjutant’s jaw, the soft crook of her neck, the softness of her lips.

Roy was still admiring Hawkeye when her eyes opened again, catching him in the act. Her lips parted slightly and her eyes softened at the adoration in his own. But suddenly, her face turned more serious. Roy steeled himself for a reprimand, or, worse, a rejection. 

“Sir, I want to apologize for the misunderstanding earlier. I would never abandon our mission.” Hawkeye paused, then looked down at their intertwined hands. “Besides, as much as I used to like the cold, I prefer the heat now.” Her eyes flickered back up to lock onto his, her own heat burning behind them. 

Roy swallowed, emboldened. He broke concentration on the small flame in his right hand and moved it to cup her cheek. Riza took her hands from his left, and he felt a short pang of disappointment before she grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him forward, closing the space between them to meet his lips with her own.

Roy angled his face to better capture her lips, deepening their kiss with a low moan. His left hand dropped from Riza’s cheek to the small of her back, and shifted his right from her cheek to the nape of her neck. Riza’s hands left his lapels to circle her arms around his neck.

He knew they couldn’t kiss for long—the copse of trees provided some seclusion, but anyone could happen upon them. Still, it was hard to break from a kiss he’d dreamt of since he was seventeen.

They finally broke apart, breathing heavily and grinning widely at each other.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you prefer the heat,” Roy finally replied, his voice rough, eyes trying to communicate everything he was afraid to say aloud. Then his smile turned teasing. “I was worried your love for figures of authority convinced you to prefer the cold.”

Riza’s face flushed an even deeper red, but then her eyes glimmered with mirth. “I mean, you _have_ seen General Armstrong. She’s hot enough to make up for the cold.” She fanned her face with her hand, her bangs shifting ever so slightly from the breeze. “And speaking of figures of authority, don’t even get me started on Führer Bradley.”

Roy stiffened, then relaxed and smiled at Riza’s laughter. “In that case, I guess have extra incentive to make my goal of becoming Führer a reality.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wanted to write a bisexual Riza and here I am hehe. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed :) You can find me on tumblr at fullmetal-hellmouthchemist! Always happy to take prompts


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